


Kisses that Could Have Been

by orphan_account



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: -maniacal laughter-, Also Iris is a little bisexual, F/M, Iris was crushing on Barry too, Some Fluff, Some angst, my fic my rules, unrequited crushes, very minor but still there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-10 23:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Wanting to kiss Barry came sporadically, and the way her feelings for him seemed to change from a summer drizzle to a hurricane in those moments always left her speechless. She’d almost done it (kissed him, that is) twice before they left for college, but the same petrifying fear from their first almost-dance together held her back."</p><p>-----</p><p>OR: A slight AU in which Iris has been crushing on Barry almost as long as he's been crushing on her. Three times she wanted to kiss him but didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kisses that Could Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic for The Flash fandom, so tips would be super appreciated. Also comments give me life, and every time I read one I have a little more motivation to contribute to society/fandoms/life.

Iris was thirteen the first time she really thought about kissing Barry Allen.

It was her second school dance, the Valentine’s Day Dance (even though Valentine’s Day was really the next day, but whatever). She was in eighth grade and she hadn’t had her first kiss yet, but her best non-Barry-friend had. The way that Karen made kissing sound made Iris dangerously curious, her inquisitive nature pulling her towards the inevitable milestone that her first kiss would be.

And, she wasn’t entirely sure why, but she wanted that milestone to be with Barry.

She’d faintly considered it before, kissing Barry, and she was pretty sure it was because of how much she trusted him and how well they knew each other. It wasn’t because she was _in love_ with him or anything, god no. She loved Barry, of course she did. He lived one bedroom downstairs from her and could braid her hair better than she could and listened to her with more sincerity than anyone else she knew. Yes, it was weird to say, but Barry was just oddly and genuinely sincere about everything. In addition to that, or maybe because of it, Barry was also terrible at lying, which meant that it was laughably easy for Iris to tell that her best friend was lying at that very moment.

“ _Barry_ ,” Iris whined, “This is the last slow dance. You’ve totally got a crush on a someone-”

“I do _not_ -” Barry protested before Iris interrupted him again.

“And it must be a bad crush if you won’t tell even _me_ who it is and I promise I won’t say anything about it ever, but you should ask her to dance.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Barry stuttered, and Iris was barely able to pick up on his ~~incredibly cute~~ (she did _not_ just think that Barry was cute, nope) blush in the cafeteria’s crappy mood lighting.

“Are you kidding? I know you better than anyone else. You’re amazing and I’m sure whoever this girl is thinks so too.” Iris said, providing the pep talk that she hoped would spur him to action.

“I really don’t think so,” He whispered, a sound so quiet that Iris couldn’t make it out beneath the squeals of the group of girls next to them and the song’s obnoxious pop melody.

“What?” She asked.

“Nothing.”

“ _Barry_ ,” she whimpered.

“Nothing, Iris,” he smiled, “I just don’t feel comfortable dancing with someone right now, and I’m kinda clumsy.”

“Oh,” Iris said softly, then an idea struck her and the brilliance of said idea lit up her smile, “Well then dance with me.”

“What?” Barry said, clearly taken aback, eyebrows perched high on his forehead.

“Well, we’re best friends and so I won’t judge you for being clumsy, and if you practice with me you’ll be more comfortable with this mystery-girl.”

“Iris, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Please,” she begged, “I will never ever try to make you dance with anyone ever again.”

“You and I both know that’s a total lie,” he said with deadpan tone.

“But,” he continued defeatedly when she sent him the forlorn-puppy look that she used on him when all other methods failed, “I’ll dance if you really want to.”

She did a silent fist bump of victory and grabbed his hand to pull him out onto the dance floor. She decided to ignore the fact the her heart stuttered when she did so. ( _He’s like my brother, that’s all_ , she thought. She wasn’t going to let hormones- or whatever this was- ruin her relationship with her best friend.)

He followed her into the crowd of swaying teens and preteens, all dancing with varying degrees of finesse or entirely lacking it.

She turned to face him when she found a spot in the crowd that seemed good enough, about to tell him to put his hands on her waist when all of a sudden he was close, almost too close to her. Her mouth opened and then closed, no sound coming out.  _When did he get so... tall?_  She thought in the back of her mind, her eyes locked on his hazel ones in a way that made a not unpleasant feeling twist in her stomach.

“Iris?” He asked, his question breaking her out of her thoughts, the kind of thoughts that made blood rush to her skin under his concerned gaze, “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said weakly, and had to remind herself to smile against the tight, dry feeling of her throat, “I think I just need some water.”

“Oh,” Barry said, face clearing of the traces of confusion it held before, “Wait right here, Joe would kill me if you got heat stroke.”

Iris watched him go, her face now as confused as his had been.

Sure, Iris had kind of wanted to kiss him before, just out of curiosity, but the intensity of what she had felt was… terrifying. He was her best friend,  _just_ her best friend.

She convinced herself of this just before the song ended, which was (for better or worse) before Barry was able to get back to her.

He promised her a rain check on the dance, if she wanted one. She told him she would pass, that she didn’t want to force him to do something if he didn’t want it.

She didn’t once imagine after that that kissing Barry was a good idea. After all, curiosity wasn’t always a good thing.

\----------

Wanting to kiss Barry came sporadically, and the way her feelings for him seemed to change from a summer drizzle to a hurricane in those moments always left her speechless. She’d almost done it (kissed him, that is) twice before they left for college, but the same petrifying fear from their first almost-dance together held her back.

After all, Barry didn’t see her like that. He’d had girlfriends and she’d had boyfriends (okay, and one ex-girlfriend who she kept in touch with) and he’d never implied he liked her that way in all the time they’d known each other. The fact that she had never implied her feelings either was entirely irrelevant.

\----------

Of all of the times that Iris almost kissed Barry, their last pre-college sleepover felt the most domestic.

It was a tradition of theirs from before Barry had actually moved in to roll out sleeping bags on the West’s’ living room floor and hoard all of the pillows in the house to watch a minimum of three movies with pizza. Barry absolutely loved it. Unfortunately, with senior year and internships and getting ready for college (Iris was not at all upset that they wouldn’t be living together anymore, and if she was she wouldn’t admit to it) they hadn’t found time for such a sleepover in months and knew that they wouldn’t have another chance for one till the following summer.

This meant, much to Joe’s dismay, that literally every single pillow in the house could be located in a giant heap on the living room floor. He decided he could live with it, though, when he saw the smiles on Iris’s and Barry’s faces.

Pizza was ordered, ice cream was eaten, and movies were selected for what Barry claimed would be, “The most epic sleepover in the history of our lives. Yet. I’m not letting you quit this just ‘cause we’re older.”

They had already finished watching _The Breakfast Club_ and _Clueless_ , and were about halfway through  _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_ when Iris realized that Barry had fallen asleep beside her, face relaxed and neck pressed back against the sofa. He looked peaceful and she studied his face, wishing for all the world that she had a camera or was any good at drawing because she wanted to remember him like this. She faced away from him as if to dispel such thoughts, and slowly began to drift into sleep herself.

Somehow during the night they had wound up on the floor and, well, closer. When Iris woke up the next morning she found that they were a tangle of limbs that shouldn’t have been comfortable at all, but the way he pressed against her felt perfect. She just laid there with him, pretending that it definitely wasn’t cuddling and already aching from how much she was going to miss him.

Then Barry woke up, starting to stretch a little before his body entire body froze, his heartbeat quickening against her skin. He quickly disentangled himself from her, and Iris cursed herself for not thinking of that first ( _Dumb teenage hormones_ , she thought). Barry then began to pad his way towards the kitchen and and she was able to watch his silhouette in the dim, early morning light that filtered through the blinds. Her head was still fuzzy from sleep and she was too drowsy from it to worry about whether or not looking at him like this was wrong or right. She rolled back over in the chaotic heap of pillows and blankets and sleeping bags and decided to worry about it another time.

“Iris?” A soft, familiar voice said as someone tried to prod her awake, the light of the room becoming apparent through Iris’s eyelids.

“Mmmhhhrrmmm,” she mumbled, turning away from whoever was dumb enough to try to wake her up. Iris West was _not_ a morning person.

She heard a snort from behind her, “I have food, Iris.” The voice promised, and now that it had her interest Iris remembered that it was Barry’s voice.

“Hmmmm?” She questioned, still burritoed inside of a blanket. What? She was comfortable, and if Barry wanted her to leave that kind of heaven he’d have to convince her.

“Cinnamon rolls are in the oven, coffee machine is on, and I can be convinced to make eggs.”

“Have I told you that I love you recently?” She asked, sitting up to face him, “You are just an amazing human.”

Barry smirked, shaking his head a little, “Your flattery is truly amazing. I’m guessing you want yours sunny-side up?”

“Yes, please,” she said, a wide grin stretched across her face. He rolled his eyes and left for the kitchen, Iris following behind him after a quick cat-stretch.

She was dazed enough to kind of tune out what was around her as Barry bumbled around the kitchen, grabbing eggs and pans and, unless she was mistaken, humming the Imperial March. Her mind begrudgingly found itself wandering back into the kind of thoughts she’d had last night. The small strip of skin between his shirt and sweatpants, visible when he reached to get spices from the cabinet, did nothing to dispel them.

“Are you seriously humming songs from Star Wars?” She teased, trying to occupy her mind in other ways.

Without missing a beat, “Are you seriously going to judge me for that when you’re the one who can’t go a full day without humming something from a disney movie?”  He asked, cracking two eggs into the pan in front of him.

“Disney is classic, family entertainment. Humming Star Wars is kind of geeky.”

“Okay,” he said, turning away from the pan and towards her while the pan sizzled, “Star Wars is geeky, but at our age aren’t Disney movies geeky too?” He argued.

“It is a little geeky,” Iris conceded, “But definitely not as geeky as Star Wars.”

Barry paused as if thinking of a retort, “You’re kind of not wrong, they are two different levels of geekiness. Nevertheless, the inherent geekery of-”

“Barry,” she interrupted, “I think the eggs might need…” She trailed off as Barry turned to the pan with wide eyes and a slight curse, flipping them and muttering something under his breath.

“Anyways,” He said, back still turned to her as he began to season the eggs (which was a totally normal thing, thank you very much), “What were we talking about?”

Iris chuckled a little and the conversation changed to their favorite disney movies and then to favorite villians of all time. It was strangely perfect to talk to him like that, and sitting on the counter, his back facing her as they talked about nothing and everything, she just couldn’t help but think how easy it would be to just kiss him. Just to lean over and press her lips against his hair, his cheek, his neck. To see if he was as affected as she was from the strange intimacy they shared.

 _Another time_ , she promised herself, a time when they both weren’t leaving, rushing off towards futures and away from each other.

 _Maybe not at all_ , a part of herself whispered her first night on campus, the part of herself that argued that Barry probably wouldn’t be thinking of her like that.

\----------

Being away from the people she loved was always painful for Iris, but it wasn’t debilitating. Besides, she went home for weekend visits to her father, visits that never seemed to line up with Barry’s schedule. Trips to harass Joe during long weekends should’ve solved her homesickness, but a lingering feeling of dissonance, as if the situation was just the tiniest bit off, wouldn’t leave her alone.  

It wasn’t until Barry pulled up into the driveway on the second day of her Thanksgiving Break that Iris realized what had been wrong the whole time, and when she practically tackled him in the driveway home started feeling more like home.

\----------

It turns out that college had pushed them towards their futures, but not away from each other (Iris doubted anything could do that at this point, really). They were both back in Central city, and with Barry at the CCPD and Iris working on her Master’s degree it had begun to feel like this was going to be forever, the people she loved and the city she loved and hopefully a job she would love, a happy ending that she could live with. She’d gotten over Barry halfway through sophomore year due to a drunken one night stand with a Brazilian helicopter pilot and the advice that she’d gotten from him, hazy in her memory (tequila) but the meaning behind it something close to if it were meant to happen, it probably would’ve happened, and the only way forward is to stop looking back. Or something. As earlier stated, tequila. Lots of tequila.

Regardless of the wording, the sentiment had finally gotten Iris back in the dating pool and over a certain hazel-eyed forensics nerd.

Or so she had thought, but sitting beside her best friend in the painfully sterile hospital room he’s been allotted made her chest clench in ways that were far too painful. She’d watched him die twice now, and her heart seized every time the monitor’s beeps seemed even a little bit farther apart from each other.  

She’d been so sure she was over him, too. The sky was blue, her eyes were brown, and Barry Allen was her brother in all ways but one. It was a simple truth that now seemed like a bold-faced lie. She loved him.

Iris was in love with Barry Allen.

She wondered if there was a sick kind of irony in that sometimes ~~losing~~ nearly losing something was what opened your eyes to how much you needed it. She needed him, and it showed in the way she held onto his hand, as if he was her anchor, as if it could keep her from losing him. Part of her felt like he was already lost.

No, she wasn’t going to think that way, Barry would-

“Iris?” asked a concerned voice from the doorway, and her eyes snapped up to meet her father’s. His eyes flicked towards Barry and then to the array of monitors they had to monitor his condition as he move across the room to sit with her on the hard plastic chairs they had almost gotten used too. Her father sighed deeply, hand running over his face and against the beginning to grey stubble that was visible there.

“Iris, visiting hours are almost over. We’re going to have to leave in a few minutes.” He said and then paused as if waiting for her to say something, as if talking was just too much for him to handle alone given their current situation.

“I know, daddy,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder and ignoring the uncomfortable press of the plastic arm rests between them. He let out a deep shuddering breath, pressed a kiss into her scalp, and then rested his head on top of hers. The silence after that didn’t seem as cold or empty. Joe pulled away and turned to face her.

“Iris, I was thinking we could stop by that Italian place you like, they might still be open.”

“I’d like that,” she smiled, “But I… I need a minute. I’ll meet you in the lobby, okay?” He nodded, and was halfway through the door before he shifted towards her again, about to start telling her again how Barry wouldn’t want this. How he’d hate to see how hard they’d taken his coma. The steely look in her eyes must have told her father that this conversation wasn’t going to end any differently than the past few that they’d had about the topic, so he just shook his head and murmured something about bringing the car around.

Iris’s attention returned to the much too pale (something she usually teased him about) much too skinny (something that had always personally bothered him, something that Iris had never minded) much too still (he would never be this still if he wasn’t in a coma, for god’s sake he fidgeted in his _sleep_ ) boy, no, man in the bed in front of her.

She had never missed someone that she was in the same room with as much as she missed him in that moment. Actually, she didn’t think she had ever missed anyone as much as she missed him in that moment.

Iris caught herself halfway over his face, his lips a heartbeat or less away from hers. She could kiss him, she wanted to, and the six-year-old part of her harbored a secret hope that she could kiss him awake, that the force of how much the cared for Barry would somehow enable her to will him out of his coma. No such luck yet, and she realized that she didn't want to kiss him like this.

It felt too much like saying goodbye, too much like giving up. If Barry had made her believe in anything he had made her believe in the impossible. He’d always been the kind of person to defy those kind of assumptions.

The doctors said the chances were slim to none and Barry was contrary enough to prove them wrong. Iris smiled at the thought and promised herself that when he woke up she would kiss him properly.


End file.
